


The Scar

by bene_elim



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: ????sort of????? it's about scars so yea, Gen, Introspection, Light Angst, Scars, its super short so, umm thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26719957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bene_elim/pseuds/bene_elim
Summary: Link contemplates a scar on his knee.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	The Scar

**Author's Note:**

> wow, a first for me not naming a fic with a poetry line. also this is possibly the shortest thing i'll ever write. many thanks to sarcasticmudkip for beta-ing!! you were fantastic and really teased out all the knots that came from writing this super fast and not looking it over. thanks!!!

There was a scar on Link's knee.

It wasn't big; perhaps just an inch or two long. It wasn't big at all.

And it wasn't deep. It was barely visible, actually. Just a thin white line on the round of his knee.

And, most importantly, _it shouldn't matter._ After all, he was covered in scars, old and new.

But the fact was there was a scar on his knee. It really shouldn't matter, because he didn't know where he got _most_ of his scars from. The entire left side of his chest; his ear; his cheek... He was a roadmap of scars, a cobweb strung together with quilted bits of flesh. It was frustrating. It was _frustrating,_ because he _didn’t know where they came from._

But this scar— _this_ scar—bothered him most of all. It was unconnected to the rest of the constellations of pink, new flesh that adorned his upper body. It was its own entity, a continent of itself, strange on the rough skin. It was white with age, pale, and barely visible. Whereas all the other scars were rosy and shiny and new. He only noticed it, in fact, when he scraped his knees falling down a cliff that he didn’t have the stamina to climb. The scrapes had barely hurt, he’d certainly suffered worse, but as he cleaned them out with saltwater from the sea nearby, he’d noticed the old little scar right on the curve of the joint, on the side of his right knee.

He wondered where it was from.

Could it be the scar of childhood? Perhaps he got it when he went playing in the woods and was scraped by the brambles and sharp twigs of trees. Or maybe he fell and split it open on a rock. Children’s skin was soft and sensitive, after all, easy to open up under pressure. And if he was anything like he was now as a child (half wild and untameable, a fire of action, a wind of destruction, half wild and half untameable), then it would be no surprise to know he got the scar as a child.

Could it be the scar of a brave deed? Perhaps he got it when he saved a young girl from falling off the edge of a cliff, diving after her and ripping open the skin of his knee. Or maybe he saved a man from a bokoblin and was scraped by a needle sharp spear in the process. And if he was anything like he was now in the past (scared of failure to the point of sickness and scared of the dark of night, scared of the closeness of caves, scared and scared and scared and yet still pushing through, for that, the old man once told him, is bravery), then it would be no surprise to know he got the scar as a reward for doing a brave deed.

Could it be the scar of death? Perhaps he got it when he got the rest of his scars, despite it not being at the same stage of healing as them. Or maybe he got it recently and just never noticed. And if he was anything like he thought he was (too careless, so reckless, trouble, trouble, trouble: a wave of chaos, an earthquake of uncontrollability), then it would be no surprise to know that he got the scar when he didn’t even notice.

In the end, it didn’t matter. Because it was just another scar. Just another little line marring his body. A body full of scars like a book full of words. And they all tell a story. Even if one can’t remember it.

But in the dark of night, when Link is scared, he likes to imagine that the scar belongs to a boy who fell while playing outside; to a boy who saved his sister from a tree falling; to a boy who lived his life as young boys should.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, please let me know what you thought if you have a spare minute, i thrive off your comments!


End file.
